Vignettes
by queerpoet
Summary: A series of vignettes from Luke and Reid's POV. Revelation and Thank You are in Reid's POV. The rest are Luke.
1. Denial

Denial

"Don't you ever even think - "

"You don't get it, Luke. You just don't get it."

"I can't live like this anymore - I can't keep bowing down, begging you for -"

"What are you talking about? I love you. I need you. I want to be with you forever. But I just can't devote my life to -"

"To what? To taking care of me? To making sure poor widdle Luke has all his emotional needs met -"

"God dammit, just listen to me. I need my space. I need to figure out how to be my own man again, to make -"

"No! Fuck you, you never even put out, you just kept making excuses - you - " the words clench in my teeth, pure acid.

"Fuck me? Fuck you, Luke Snyder. If you can't be with me, then you can just -"

"Gladly. I don't ever want to see you again. So much for true love, you selfish little prick."

I storm to Katie's apartment. Knock rapidly. Quick, tap tap tap. My knuckle is bruised on the wood, but fuck it. Knock knock anyway.

He answers me. Lines of shock I see spread on his cheeks, a converging tidal wave.

"Let me in," I grit, desperate. Clinging to sanity.

"Sure." he says. He puts his hand on my shoulder, guides me inside. I tremble at the touch. I shrug him off, walk unseeing into the darkness of the living room.

"Katie and Jacob are asleep." he murmurs, immediately finding me in the dark. His hands skate against my shoulders, gently push me onto the couch. He turns on a single lamp, and I find his face suddenly vivid in the light.

"Reid," I say. "I - I broke up with Noah. I can't do it anymore. I can't be half a man. I can't constantly scrap for the little pieces he deigns to give me."

His hand clutches at my cheek, before drawing back, quickly denied. He turns from me, staring at the lamp intently.

Before I am aware, I stand, try to hug him from behind.

"Let me in." I whimper. My hands fall, sprawl, scrap against his stomach, slowly stroking.

He elegantly steps out of my grasp, turns to face me.

Sudden rage. His face, terrifying in the sprawling darkness. His hand once again, reaches for my cheek, falls useless against his hip.

Tap tap tap.

I see my opening. I step closer, pull his head towards mine. Clutch, clench, kiss, digging for tongue. His tongue melts against my mouth, like a Hershey's chocolate bar. My thumbs brush his cheeks, gentle, fondling. I rest my nose against his nose.

He pushes me away, letting me fall back into the couch.

The fierce anger, overriding the undeniable lust.

"You don't fucking get it, do you?" he whispers. "How dare you, you miserable little boy?"

I smirk at his insult, and thrust my hips forward. I am brazen. I am starving.

"Just a taste." I say.

His jaw clenches, and I almost come, just watching him. His gaze is even and loaded. He stands only a few inches from me, staring into my eyes.

I attempt to stand, but his hand finds my chest, and shoves me against the couch. With his right hand, he tweaks my nipple, and claims my mouth in a demanding kiss.

His left hand trails down my chest to my groin. He hesitates for the briefest second, before diving into my jeans to cup my erect cock.

"Reid," I groan, thrusting against his questing hand.

He pulls back abruptly and glares at me darkly. Hearing his name seems to have awakened him from a trance.

"Get out," he snarls. His hand, still covered in pre-cum, grasps, and wrenches me off the couch.

He bodily forces me out of the apartment. His hand is a firebrand in my hand, and my right hand cups his cheek at the door.

"No!" he growls, forcing the door, and relinquishing my hand. "Let us get one thing straight, Mr. Snyder. I don't play games. I don't cheat. I don't want to see you again until you are completely over that ignorant twit of a boyfriend. I will never treat you like a piece of crap on my shoe. But I expect the same respect from you. Do you understand me?"

I have no choice but to nod.

Before I know it, I am outside his apartment, breathing heavily. I grimace, and walk out of the apartment, my erection aching with every step.

Finally, I go back home, and find myself jerking off in the bathroom. His name is on my lips, but I bite it back with each thrust.

In the morning, Noah finds me, my cock limp against my thigh.

"Luke?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

I blink, bleary with sleep, at the man I used to call my true love.

"It's over, Noah." I say dully. "You can't keep pushing me away, and expect me to follow you, begging. I went through enough crap with my alcoholism, and I'll be damned, if I say in this toxic relationship with you for a minute longer."

I get up, gently but forcefully push him out of the bathroom. I shower, and with the cleansing water, I imagine every inch of Noah washing into the drain.

I step out of the bathroom, and silently get dressed.

He watches, confused and resentful.

"I made myself clear." I say firmly. "Get your stuff and get out."

"Luke - "

"Get out!" I roar, turning to face him down.

His eyes crinkle into sadness, but he nods and exit the room.

I dress, my hands trembling as I grab each piece of clothing.

Finally, I stare at the mirror, looking at the clean, fresh-faced man sadly staring back at me.

I want to call Reid; the ache in my chest is overwhelming.

But I remember his words, and so I continue to stare into the mirror.

In a daze, I lock the door where he left just minutes before.

I collapse into bed, closing my eyes. Blonde hair invades my thoughts, and crisp blue eyes, deep as the ocean bubble up.

Sleep. All I need is sleep.

In my dreams, Reid is there.

He smooths my brow, pulls the sheets over my body. He sits in a chair, watching me sleep.

When I wake, he is there.

"I thought you said - "

His eyes are hooded, but a slight smile softens his features.

"Despite your idiocy, I can't seem to stay away. But there will be absolutely no sex." As he speaks, he is slowly drifting towards the bed.

I yawn, gratefully.

"No sex." I say slowly. "Why did you come, Reid? Really?"

His hands slowly rub my arms, providing an indescribable warmth. He carefully eases into the bed, pulling me towards him in a warm hug.

"Later, Richie Rich." he says softly. "Later."

My hands land on his stomach, as if they were meant to be there.

I feel sleep once more overtaking me.

As I drift, I feel the soft press of his lips against my temple.

"I don't deserve you, Dr. Oliver." the words puff out of my breath, dreamlike impressions.

A light chuckle pierces my thoughts.

"I know . . . Luke."

Sleep claims me, as his hands gently makes circles on my back.

One more phrase invades my consciousness, a comforting balm to my aching soul.

"I will never hurt you, Luke Snyder."


	2. Acceptance

Acceptance

I surface. His hands are sprawled against my back. His head is heavy on my shoulder.

He looks so young in sleep. I trace my fingers along his cheek, feather light.

He sighs, and moves even closer to me. His hand travels up from my back, and rests against the back of my neck.

I close my eyes, relishing the smooth warmth of his palm. I imagine him holding me like an owner holding a cat by the scruff of its neck, and I can't contain my laughter.

He wakes instantly. I feel the heavy warmth of sleep vanish, and instead the old tension returns again.

His eyes pierce me.

I can't read the expression there. I don't really want to. I just want to watch him.

He extracts his hand from my neck, and it is like missing a limb.

"I'm sorry," he says roughly, voice choked with fatigue. "I didn't mean to - I really fucked this up."

I shake my head quickly, and put my index finger on his lips.

"Shh," I murmur. "Shut up. We only slept."

His eyes flash with akin to desire for an instant. I watch in amazement as the shutters come down, and he becomes Dr. Oliver right in front of my eyes.

He stands, his back towards me.

His right hand rests on the sheets, and I sit up, and try to hold it.

He feels my touch, and he visibly flinches.

"Luke." he says. His voice is strangled with pain. "Don't."

"I have to go."

He turns around, regarding me with a cold aloofness.

"This was a mistake." he says simply.

"What mistake?" I sputter. "I did what you wanted. I broke it off. For weeks, you've wanted to break up with him, and I did. We can be together now - you don't have to -"

"Weeks." he interrupts me. His voice is frosty. "Don't insult me. I've wanted you since the minute I got to this hellhole. You flirted. You came to me, the night of his surgery. You remember what happened next. _You _ran away. _You _got scared. You went back to him, and begged his forgiveness. And so -" he throws his arms out wildly, and steps closer to the bed. "I had to watch you play happy family with that - boy. You just cut me out of my life, and then show up at my apartment, out of the blue. Don't even _think_ about -"

I can't listen to anymore. I get up, and put my hands on his shoulders.

"Reid," I begged. "Please. It's different now."

Hot tears are spilling down my cheeks.

"He made me feel -"

"Don't." he says again, softer. Against his own volition, his hand cups my cheeks. He gently wipes the tears away.

"I've heard it all before." he says. "Every damn day, for months. Watching him berate you, push you away, treat you like crap. I can't do this, Luke. I - " his voice fades away. His eyes flash, like he's trying to memorize my face.

"You what?" I whisper. I knead his shoulder with my hand. Every nerve in my body is tense and ablaze.

"You know what." he answers. "You know why I can't stay away. But I just can't watch you be treated like nothing anymore, Luke. You deserve so much more than him."

I want to hear him say it. But I haven't earned the right. I know it, in my core. It's a miracle he's even here. He doesn't understand. Noah's exactly who I deserve. Once Reid gave me a glimpse of what real love feels like.

But that's over. He's pulling away from me, just like Noah.

I can't control myself. I feel tears building. I choke them back.

"You don't get it." I spit. "I'm just a miserable little boy. I don't deserve you. Noah's [i]_exactly[/i]_ who I deserved. I caused his accident. I had to be punished for it. And when I kissed you that night, you made me feel so wanted. You gave me of a glimpse of what love without conditions meant. So I ran. Back to safety." Bitterness cascades out of my mouth. "Back to -"

"Abuse." he interrupts me firmly. "Back to emotional abuse. Luke, listen to me - "

I shake my head defiantly, and let my hand fall off his shoulder. I pull away from his touch. I walk to the corner of the room, facing the wall. I scrub my face, but the tears keep coming.

I can't look at him. I can't let him see.

I wish he would go.

"Why did you come here?" I whisper. "I can't convince you I ended it with him. I got so fucking tired of feeling bad about myself - every choice I made met with contempt, so I just - broke up with him. I told him to take his shit, and leave. You can check the drawers if you don't believe me."

I kept on talking, finding comfort in the blank wall.

"Of course you don't believe me. Why should you? I'm just alcoholic Luke, with one kidney. Gay, of course. My mom loved that one, as you can imagine."

I feel his hands on my shoulders, suddenly. He gently turns me around, and pushes me against the wall.

"Stop talking." he whispers. His hands engulf my face. He leans forwards and gently, so gently, kisses my lips.

"I believe you." he says seriously. "Okay?"

I nod, tentative.

"It's not your fault." he continues. "The accident. You didn't set the fireworks. You didn't climb up to mess with them like an idiot."

"I distracted him," I answer. I can't draw my breath. His eyes transfix me.

"I was talking, and he -"

Before I could continue, his mouth claimed mine with another kiss.

"That's Noah talking, not the Luke Snyder I know. The Luke I know doesn't take shit from anyone, least of all me. Remember the Luke who fought me tooth and nail for the rooms for the families of patients. Noah Mayer is an emotionally abusive young man who blamed you for something that was an accident. Why the hell was he messing with fireworks anyway? Luke - "

His thumbs are gently stroking my cheeks, just underneath my ears.

"Stop blaming yourself. Stop crying. Let him go."

I sigh into his mouth. My hands find his ribs, and rest there.

"I can't." I sniffle. "I can't -"

He puts his fingers on my mouth, and traces my lip slowly.

"Yes, you can." he says. "You can."

"Why did you come back?" I ask. The questions bursts out of me, like an alien exploding out of my chest. "Why do you give a damn?"

His jaw clenches, and I lick my lips involuntarily.

"I love you. I'm completely in love with you." his voice is husky, cracking into shards.

I inhale, a deep breath, and I grab his pants by the waistband.

I pull him towards me. His feet are heavy but eager on the carpet.

I move towards him in slow motion, suddenly nervous.

The kiss is sublime, eager and yearning.

When we separate, his gaze is vulnerable, exposed.

I grab his hand and squeeze it tightly.

"I love you too."


	3. Release

Release

"You're shaking."

He looks at me sideways, then down at my feet.

"I know you think you love me, but you'll forgive me if I don't start jumping for joy." His brows quirks and his gaze is soft, but guarded.

"This is a big step, Luke. I took a big risk coming here tonight. When you tell me you love me, I want you to mean it with every breath. I definitely don't want to hear it the night after your breakup."

I feel the truth in his words, and don't bother arguing. I just nod, and stroke his palm with my thumb.

But I can't help myself.

"You just said it to me," I point out. I hear in my voice the hint of a whine.

"I didn't expect to hear it back," he says gently. "Not yet. Please, Luke. You mean too much to me to make us something - cheap."

He's deadly serious.

I nod once, and gingerly hug him. I feel hesitation in his body, but I use my slight height difference to guide him forward.

I keep my hands neutral, relaxed on his shoulders.

He clutches the small of my back, reluctant at first. Slowly, I feel his arms fold around me.

I exhale, a comfortable whoosh of air.

"It's okay," he murmurs. His hot breath laps into my ear. "I'm not going anywhere. But I just need -"

"I know." I reassure him. I stroke his back tenderly, making slow circles. "I understand. But - what happens next?" _Instead?_

He leans back to meet my eyes.

A blinding smile splits his features, and for an instant I see the youthful man I watched sleep.

"How do you feel about breakfast?"

I blink twice, and chuckle at the randomness of the question.

I shake my head, and smirk at him. "Breakfast? Isn't it like two am?"

"Close enough," he answers. "What do you have in the fridge?"

"Wait a minute," I say incredulously. "You know how to cook?"

He releases me and walks toward the doorway. He's pulling me after him like an excited child.

"You think I live on takeout?" he says, smirking. "Yes, I can cook. So what about pancakes?"

I feel a sudden jerk in my cock, but hide it with a Cheshire cat's grin.

"Pancakes would be awesome, Reid."

He smirks at me, carefully not looking at my groin. We reach the kitchen, and he busies himself gathering ingredients. He places pancake mix, eggs, and milk on the island.

He regards the bisquick mix with a deep frown. "You don't have aunt jemimah's, so I guess this will have to do." He begins mixing the ingredients with intense concentration.

I watch his hips sway against the counter, hypnotized by their movement. I can't help myself. I work my way towards the island, and move to cup his ass with one hand.

"Luke." His voice is careful, firm. "What did I say?"

"No sex," I grumble quietly, and sit down at the table silently.

He nods, mixing the pancake mix briskly. "No sex."

After a few minutes, he stares down at the mix, satisfied. "Do you have nutmeg, or cinnamon, anything like that?"

I chuckle, bemused. "Who puts nutmeg in pancakes? Are you making dessert?"

"I put nutmeg in pancakes, Mr. Snyder. Trust me, you'll love it."

"I -" I bite back my words, and examine my palm. "I trust you."

"So do you have them?"

"Yeah, in the cabinet, right behind you."

He lets the whisk fall into the batter and moves, deliberately, to grab the spices.

He searches for the spices for several seconds, before finding them. He places them on the counter. He is carefully avoiding my gaze.

"Can you - " he starts. Pauses. Meet my eyes. His eyes - stark blue, plummeting into my own.

His hand rests on the counter - I see his jaw working slowly.

"Luke - " His voice is strangled, stuttering with want.

It's all the invitation I need.

I get up from the table, cup his hand with my own.

My stomach is millimeters from his arm, as I savor the feel of his hand.

The question rests on my mouth, but I have to let him take the lead.

His eyes dart back and forth from my face to my hand, before lasering in on my mouth.

"Fuck it," he mumbles. He claims my mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue works against the underside of my tongue, and I moan into his lips.

His right hand grasps my hair, and pulls. I am almost hovering outside my body; I feel the strands in his fingers, and I thrust against his hip.

"Reid," I moan. My right hand clutches at his ass.

His hand is still on the island, but he turns it upward, and holds my hand tight. His thumb makes quick, jerky movements on my palm.

My hand quivers in his embrace. My thumb brushes the crevice on his palm, and I ache for him to touch me.

I release his hand for a moment, my fingers threading through his palm.

He finds the zipper on my pants, and unzips them. His fingers ghosts over my erect cock, and my grip on his ass is like a benediction.

His fingers ghosts over my boxers, and I whimper softly.

Reid finds my eyes, and stares at me.

"What do you like?" he asks. "What do you want me to do?" He kneads my hips as he speaks. The touch makes me pull him towards for another kiss.

I let my erection fold against his groin, rubbing his own hard cock.

"Just wanna feel you," I murmur.

He hisses, the desire coursing through his veins, leaving him bereft.

I nod, once. I see in his eyes the doubt, the fear, lurking beneath the surface.

_I want you. _I think. I try desperately to reassure him.

I grab his hand once more, guide it against the wall.

I don't let go. I never let go.

"Luke." his voice a low hiss, humming with desire.

"Trust me," I answer. "Just trust me."

I watch his adam's apple bob up and down. I am drawn to it. I kiss the spot once, then tenderly lick it. I feel the vibrations in his body, quick and forceful.

My fingers graze his t-shirt, and finally find naked flesh. I run my hand along his stomach, achingly slow.

"Luke ..." he grunts again, nothing but need.

I yank his shirt off, and caress his skin with my fingers, layering butterfly kisses on his chest.

He's writhing underneath, trying to grab my hair. His hands fists in my hair, and I let out a deep moan. My cock is wide awake, and so hard it's almost physically painful.

I fall to my knees, hands clutching his hips tightly.

I tremble as I pull down his pajama bottoms, before being gifted with his erect member.

"Luke." His name is reverent on my lips. I look up at him once, locking eyes.

His hand grasps my forehead, and pulls sharply. My hair corks at the touch, my cock rises slightly. Just his touch is enough.

"Do it," a ghost of a phrase. "I need you."

My fingers find purchase on his hips. I encircle his cock with my mouth, licking slowly, like it was an especially delicious ice cream cone.

Thumbs coast toward his balls, massaging with increasing fervor.

He thrusts against my mouth with abandon. His moans are a forceful chatter. He yanks my hair again, and I take that as my signal.

Tenderly, I guide my fingers to scrap against his balls, as I continue sucking down every drop.

When he comes, the force of it practically overwhelms me.

I release his cock, and find his reaction to be surprising.

He looks down, his face sweaty, his eyes gleaming. He curls his fingers in my hair, smoothing it back.

"What are you doing to me?" I say.

I stand with a grunt, and can't help but my rub my own erect cock against his thigh.

"Let me help you with that," he says coyly.

His right hand fingers my cock through my pants.

I begin to remove them, but he stops me. He places my hands on mine, his tongue jutting out slightly.

"Let me," he says softly. "I want to see you."

I nod, having no choice. He seems to move painfully slow, but I know it's only my brain that has short circuited.

Finally, finally, I'm naked in front of him. He casually strokes my cock, and I just want to scream get on it with already.

For once in my life, I bite my tongue.

He strokes it once more, before removing his hand. Never losing eye contact, he moves behind me, pressing against my back.

I hear him spit into his hands, and shiver involuntarily.

"No lube?" I say.

"Improv." he says simply.

"I should have known you were a Brokeback Mountain -" I gasp, interrupted as his cock suddenly enters my ass.

He finds my prostate within seconds, and begins to thrust slowly.

"Faster," I grunt. "Quicker."

I can feel him smirk, but he complies. I feel the weight of his head heavy against my shoulder, as he whispers, "Touch yourself."

I bite my lip, and don't respond.

I begin to stroke myself, slowly. I ache for his hands.

His breath wisps against my shoulder, and I feel his gaze bearing down on me.

I thrust back against his cock, grab his hand with mine. I guide it to my cock, and I feel his nod against my shoulder. One-handed, he wrenches against my cock, once, twice, three times. He nips gently at my neck.

My voice is a litany. "Harder," I grunt. "Reid, fuck, harder."

He obliges, and I feel his teeth rough against my throat.

His right hand finally joins his left, and together we jerk off my cock.

I come with a groan ripped from my gut, and finally rest, exhausted, against his body.

He thrusts inside me gently, and I feel his release, warm and wet. He nips at my throat, sucking gently, mumbling something repeatedly.

I reach back and grab his arm, stroking it slowly.

I turn and look into his eyes.

Gone is the firm and gruff Dr. Oliver. Gone is the closed off Reid. What remains is someone different.

I grab his cheek, caressing it with my fingers.

"What did you say?" I whisper.

He closes his eyes briefly. His hands clench at his sides.

He looks at me again. I am amazed at his vulnerability.

I want to make a joke. Instead, I wait for him.

"I said - " he pauses. Reid's hands rub my shoulders, and edge me closer to him.

"You know what I said."

I nod, still stroking his arm.

"Yeah," I say softly. "I do."


	4. No More Talking

No More Talking

We adjourn to the bedroom, but not before he sets the pancake batter in the fridge.

"My finest work," he murmurs.

I watch him everything away, methodically. A thought suddenly strikes me, and I blurt out, "Don't you have to go work?" We've been alone together for almost six hours.

He turns to stare at me, and shakes his head slowly.

He closes the refrigerator door with a smack, and walks towards me.

"I requested a week off. I could almost hear Bob fainting on the phone."

My mouth opens and closes, like a fish. "When?" I manage.

"Right after you came to my apartment." he admits. "I thought you might need -" he shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "It was automatic. I could tell you were having a hard time."

"Thank you," I answer. "Even though I was being so -" I cringe when I remember how I came on to him.

"Stop." he interrupts me, gently. "Stop putting yourself down. You were fine. You just surprised me. I hadn't seen you in months, and then, boom. I didn't know what to think. But after I kicked you out, and you were so obviously worked up about Noah, I just - called Bob. I - had to." He looks uncomfortable, and stares at a spot on the far wall beyond me.

"Thank you," I repeat. "It means so much to me, that you'd do that."

He shrugs, and bends to kiss my forehead. His lips linger on my brow, and I sigh softly. His hands encircle my back. We stand, in silence, for several seconds.

"I wish I could have seen Bob's face," I say.

"Me too," he replies, chuckling.

I look into his eyes, and ache to say the three words. They're hiding underneath the tip of my tongue.

Instead, I say, "So I didn't honestly peg you for a Brokeback Mountain fan."

His face clears, and he says, "It's one of my favorite movies. Ennis' struggle - I can relate to that so much. Not the closeted part, obviously. but -"

"Obviously." I reply.

"But the denial of love, to chase something else. When I was in med school, I'd turn down dates to study. I wanted to be a doctor more than anything. So I just focused on that, and then I came here and -"

"And what?" I ask. I feel his breath hitch in his chest, and want to say, _You don't have to say this now. You're afraid I'll bail again. You don't have to be. _ I just hold him, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

"I met you." he says. "And I started thinking maybe I could be a doctor, and fall in love. But then - " he shuts his eyes abruptly, and I ache to smooth the pain away.

"I don't want to talk anymore, Luke." he says. His voice comes out in short bursts, like he's been running a long distance.

I nod, and untangle myself to go to the bedroom.

He grabs my hand, and pushes me against the door. His breath puffs out, hot and sharp. He places my hands against the door, and plunges his tongue into my mouth.

My fingers curl into fists, but I can't touch him. I jerk against his hands, but his grip is too strong.

"What can I do -" I whisper.

"No more talking," he groans.

Against my thigh, I feel his cock beginning to harden.

I want to make him understand, but I just shift against the door, and nip at his bottom lip with my mouth.

His gaze is hard, and soft at the same time. He releases one of his hands, and traces my cheekbone with his index finger.

He guides into the bedroom, and I kick the door shut with my foot.

"No more talking," I reassure him. I push him back onto the bed, and kiss him deeply.

His hands grasp my shoulders, and he moves to flip me over against the sheets.

"For now," he replies. "No more talking for now."

I stroke his hardening nipples, and feel his cock rubbing against my own.

"For now," I answer.

My hand coasts downward, and I jerk him off in a few quick motions.

His face is almost blank, and he stares up at the ceiling with a singular focus.

"Reid," I say. "Look at me."

When he doesn't answer, I grab his chin, and force his eyes towards mine.

"Look at me." I demand.

He does, finally, and I wish I hadn't been so forceful.

A glimmer of tears pool in his eyes, and I brush them away, slowly.

"What can I do?" I plead. "What can I do to make it better?"

His voice is a shadow, and he blinks twice before gritting his teeth.

"Don't leave." he murmurs. "Just - hold me."

I pull him with me as I roll us onto the bed, so we're both settled comfortably.

He feels my hardness against his thigh, and looks down at it in confusion.

"It's fine," I say. "Don't worry about it."

He nods, once, and shuts his eyes before resting his head against my shoulder.

His fingers play with the hair at the nape of my neck, and I press my lips against his forehead.

As I draw him towards me, I realize that the strong, confident Reid Oliver is not the only man I fell in love with.

I also fell in love with someone damaged. Fitting, since I'm damaged too.

His steady breathing is reassuring against my cheek, and I pull a blanket over us.

I realize that I may have hurt him even more deeply than I realized. His obsession with Noah's ill treatment of me - the immediate comfort when I mentioned my alcoholism. I feel a suspicion build in my chest.

I long to banish the thought, but I can't. I just curl against his body, relishing his warmth.

I feel myself drifting.

When he wakes up, we'll talk.

But for now, no more talking.


	5. Revelation

Revelation

I stir, panic digging into my thoughts. I press against his chest, seeking comfort, seeking absolution.

"Luke?" A question, my voice stumbles into nothing.

He smiles, open and warm. He caresses my cheek, and I almost want to lap up his warmth.

But I just - can't. I blink rapidly, and look around the bedroom.

_We haven't showered._ My first thought. My spunk coats his ass.

Curious to the last, I reach my hand towards his asshole, and finger it gently.

"Did it hurt?" I say softly.

"No," he answers immediately. He brushes my hair back with his free hand. "Just a little, then I relaxed."

"It was your first time." I state. Not a question.

"Yes." he says simply.

I look down at his cock, quiescent against mine.

"I'm sorry." I say, rubbing my hand along his chest. "I didn't mean to -"

"Reid." He shakes his head, places his hand against my mouth. I want to lick his palm, but I restrain myself.

"This - don't do this. It was amazing. You - fucking me with nothing - " I watch in amazement as his eyes crinkle, restrained lust.

_What's happening to me?_ I wonder. I just nod, tweak his nose with my fingers.

"So -" I stumble, wither, pause. "The pancakes - we -"

"Reid." he interrupts me. I feel his body shift, edge even closer into my space.

"Do you remember - you pushed me against the door -"

"Luke, I - " I begin. What can I say? I felt panic pulsing, I needed to take control.

"I liked it." he responds, stroking the vein in my neck, evenly. I hiss, and kiss his nose, gentle, quiet.

"But - Reid - we need to -"

"Luke," I interject. "This is about you. You don't need to tell me -"

The onslaught starts in my chest. I feel it working its way down, deeper, and I want to run. Push him away, and walk, carefully, out of the apartment where he and Noah fucked.

Memory courses through me, spilling my guts about my love for him. Admitting how much he hurt him. Pushing him against the wall to regain control over my wayward feelings.

Tamp them down. Stuff them inside. Never, never let him see.

But I just lay there. For all the bravado, I have no strength.

He moves, his hand scraping my hair back and forth.

"I'm not telling you anything." he says gently, moving back and forth in a reassuring gesture. "I just want you to to tell me - "

"I don't have anything to tell you." I say firmly. "I'm here for you, and that's it."

I watch as his eyes dilate. He gnaws his lip, and he looks at my forehead with intensity.

"You know," he begins, now playing with my chest hair, idle.

"When I was drinking, I hated myself. I wanted to escape, to forget that I was gay, that my parents didn't love me - I just drank. Anything I could give my hands on - tequila, vodka, whiskey. It didn't matter."

"Did you ever - " I feel his shoulders, try to find strength. "Did you ever act out? Treat others like - "

"No," he interjects. "It was all internal. I drank to forget; I knew I was the reason I felt so bad. But what about you -"

"You don't really know me," I interrupt, still keeping my eyes focused on his warm gaze. "I'm brilliant. I don't need you to tell me how to - "

"You were so diligent about Noah," he says. "And when I mentioned my alcoholism, you comforted me immediately. What aren't you telling me?"

I'm surprised. _He doesn't know, _I reassure myself. _He doesn't know anything._

"Honestly, Luke, I don't want my past to change the way you think of me. I'm supposed to be your -"

"Reid." he interjects. "Nothing will change the way I see you. You're strong, confident, and committed. Nothing you say will make me leave, or run away. You don't have to hide from me."

I don't speak, but I feel something breaking inside me.

_Feels like a heart attack, but no physical pain. Just an ache._

I ease off the bed slowly. He tries to pull me back down, but I'm too quick.

"I need a shower," I say abruptly. I let his confused eyes fill me for a moment.

Something splits cleanly, and a memory fills me. A wizened drunk pressing a chess piece into my hand until it burned, leaving a mark for days. The same man screaming down every achievement in my life, saying "Fuck you" when I would tell him good news about my life.

I became hard, resisting love and affection with every ounce of my body. Casual one night stands littered my past, and when anyone came close to me, I ran.

I want to run now. He's staring at me. I watch the understanding dawn on his face.

_Damn you for being an alcoholic, _I think bitterly.

"Don't give me those doey eyes," I say sharply.

He gets off the bed, and walks toward me slowly, like he's approaching a wounded animal.

"You know, I told you earlier that nothing changed for me as a drunk. That I didn't act out. That I turned inward. But, Reid -" He reaches for my arm, but I flinch. I back away.

"I lied." he continues, firm and measured. "I stopped drinking when Natalie found me, passed out on the couch. She asked me a question - I don't even remember what it was now. I screamed at her. I told her to leave me alone. The look on her face -" His voice breaks. "The next day, I stopped drinking. I went to AA, and I promised myself I would never speak her to that way again."

"Luke - " I mumble. "Stop - " I keep walking backwards, and he keeps following.

"It's okay to have feelings, Reid. I -" he seems to gather strength, and says, determined, "I love you for them. You don't have to hide from me. I won't tell you I love you, then go away. I know you might have trouble trusting me because of Noah, but I - fucked up, and I'm so sorry. I won't push you away again."

"I trust you." I whisper. "You're the only person I trust." I cross my arms, and begin to tremble. My throat itches.

He puts his hand on my arm, and squeezes reassuringly.

"You can tell me," he murmurs. "You can tell me anything."

I sag forward, and meet his eyes head on. They're warm, and wet, and beautiful.

Warm salt courses down my cheeks, but I don't move. I don't reach for him.

Luke inches closer, and loosely wraps his arms around my neck.

I rest my head on his shoulder, and begin to speak.


	6. Thank You

Thank You

"I don't even know where to start. I've never told anyone this before. I have this image of myself as the world's best neurosurgeon, and if I tell you who I used to be, I -" my voice breaks, slightly.

His lips are feather light against my cheek. "It's gonna be okay," he whispers.

His words come back to me - _I love you for your feelings_ - and I grin, and start over.

"I guess I'll still be the same person, just exposed. To you. I think I can live with that. My parents died in a car accident when I was five. Even at five, I was a smartass. I pestered my uncle until he got the exact cause of death from the doctors. I wrote down the phrasing and looked it up, in the middle of the night.

My uncle, Angus, left me alone then. He knew I had to grieve. But after life settled down and I moved in with him, his drinking got out of control. He always liked to drink, but I had never been exposed to it on a daily basis. He had so many regrets in his life, and he took them all out on me. I remember when my favorite library reopened after a two year closure. I ran to the garage to tell him. I was so excited, I could hardly contain myself. He looked at me for a moment, lost in a drunken haze, and said flatly, 'Fuck you.' After that, I knew -"

Luke's body tenses. "How old were you?" he asks softly.

"Ten." I answer. "I was ten years old. After that, I just shut down. I didn't tell him anything about my life. I studied medicine in secret, with the door closed. But he could see me retreating, so he thought of one more thing to try and - make us a family. He entered me in chess competitions." My wry tone belies my feelings, but I feel Luke's gentle presence against my chest.

"I hated them, but I did it anyway. What could I do? I played, and I was awful at first. He played with me once, and then entered me in competitions. After the 10th time I lost, he pulled me out of the match, into a backroom. He held my knight in his hand. He pressed into my palm, making sure the hard edges dug in. He told me that this is what failure feels like, that it always leaves a mark. I nodded, defiantly, and I never lost another match. But when I turned 18, I went to Harvard, and never looked back. I haven't seen him in years."

I finish my narrative, and pull back to gauge his reaction.

His eyes are sincere, as he reaches for my cheek.

"You told me what your childhood was like," he offers. "But how did it make you feel? Your parents died, and you were left with an alcoholic uncle who forced you to play chess. You just gave me a logical version of what happened. But what did it mean to you, Reid? Aren't you angry? Sad? Disappointed? What?"

His thumb brushes the tears off my cheek, and I want to shrink away.

I close my eyes, and reply, "What do you think? He was unpredictable, chaotic. When he was sober, he would shower me with attention and love. But the minute he got a little buzzed, he became a different person. The insults would come out, exactly the opposite of what he'd said hours earlier. He looked at a young, scared little boy, and treated him like shit. Angry? Luke, I'm fucking furious!"

I get up, and march to the opposite side of the room. I begin pacing, my breath comes faster and faster.

"I hate that bastard for stealing my childhood from me. Do you know how long it's been since I was truly happy? The day I got into medical school, and I shut my eyes and I grinned like a child. I danced in my dorm room; my room mate thought I'd gone insane. He was so used to seeing the gruff exterior. The next time I was that happy, was after I kissed you for the first time.

Do you know what it's like to go through life terrified of every criticism? To flinch at the slightest sign of anger? I had to teach myself how to cope, how to become hard, and aloof, and cold. I did pretty damn well, don't you think? Thanks to my dear uncle Angus, I don't trust any petty emotions like love. I learned the hard way that I can't trust anyone, because they're just going to disappoint me."

I exhale loudly, and stare at him, eyes blazing.

"I trusted you, and look what happened." I continue. "You ran, than you came back. I don't even know. Just let me -"

He approaches slowly, and takes my hand.

"You really think you'd tell me about your crappy past, and I'd what, bail?" he says, matter of fact. "I'm in this for the long haul, Reid."

Before I can say anything, he's pulling me toward the bathroom.

He turns on the water, and waits as the water heats up.

"What -" I murmur.

Luke says nothing. He just steps into the shower. I watch as the water darkens his hair, douses his skin. Steam rises from the water.

"I assume you like it hot," he says huskily.

"Well, obviously." I answer. I step into the shower, and he kisses me, long and deep.

"I'm not leaving," he says. He grabs the soap and works it into a lather. His hands coat my chest, as he slowly languishes soap on my body.

"I know," I say.

His hands move lower, and he strokes my thighs with strong, brisk motions.

"Farm hands, Snyder?" I grunt.

"I haven't heard any complaints." he replies, wryly.

I answer him with a demanding kiss. His tongue works its way in my mouth. His hands never stop moving.

I walk him towards the wall, and finger his chest hair slowly.

"Tell me again," I demand.

"I'm not leaving," he says obediently.

I shake my head, and stroke his hair with my free hand.

"No," I whisper. "The other thing."

The water blurs my vision, but I see his eyes dawn with understanding.

"I love you, Reid Oliver." he says firmly.

I meet his mouth once again, probing with my tongue.

But instead of passion, I'm trembling.

I can feel the damn tears. I try to hold them off, but I know he feels them too.

He gently breaks our kiss.

"It's okay to cry," he says.

"Fuck crying," I answer, angry. "Fuck all of it." Even though it's Luke, I'm embarrassed.

Luke grabs my wrist, and holds my hand. His fingers grip my palm, almost tight enough to hurt. I suck in a breath, and find his gaze to be tender.

"Don't do that," he murmurs. "You can be the big arrogant jerk to the rest of the world, but here, with me, you can cry all you want. Or not. I don't give a damn. I just want to know all of you."

I feel a weight lifting off my chest, and nod in acknowledgment.

I pick up the soap, and hand it to him.

"Let's get clean." I say hoarsely.

Luke takes the soap, and lathers up his hands. He reaches for my shoulders, but I stop him. I stare intently into his eyes.

"Luke," I murmur. I hold his soapy hands with both of mine. My jaw clenches, as I watch him.

"It's okay," he reassures me. "I don't want any -"

I silence him with a kiss, lapping at his lower lip tenderly.

I exhale, keeping my mouth inches from his. I breathe in his air, slowly regaining my sense of calm.

"Thank you."


	7. Containment

Containment

My hands fumble at his back, slowly rolling my fingers against his skin. Our kiss lasts only a moment, before he breaks it to stare, unflinching into my eyes.

In a flash, I watch as the panic builds in his eyes. I try to reassure him, but it's a futile effort.

I'm not surprised at all when I hear, "I can't stay here, Luke. I have to leave."

"The world's not gonna end, because you told me your feelings," I say slowly. My hand travels along his sleek form to clutch at his hair.

"Stay with me." I plead. "Please."

His eyes track my face, darting back and forth from my eyes to my nose, to my mouth and back again.

He's trembling now. It's building, a surging storm.

Before I can react, he's gone. He leaps away from my touch like I've burned him, and walks into the bedroom.

He fumbles for his jeans on the floor. His naked ass is pink from the warm water.

Silent, I hand him a shirt.

He takes it, forces it over his head.

I want to hold him, to soothe this fear away, but there's no point. If I touch him, I run. If I stand quiet, he'll run. I just need to let this play out.

Pinpricks of moisture pool in his eyes; his shoulders convulse while he finally forces the shirt into position.

He's barefoot. Shoes are too much trouble.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice a shadow of its usual self. This is a Reid trying desperately to bury his emotions once more, to act like they never happened.

He reaches the door within seconds, and I follow him quickly. I grab his hand at the doorway, and say, "It's freezing outside. Where the hell are you going?"

His mouth opens and closes without words, and he shakes his head once, fiercely. "Out." he responds coolly.

The door closes behind him, and I wonder if I should run after him, naked, into the snow slowly falling outside.

It takes every ounce of energy for me to stay inside, but I do it. I reason that there should be only one of us freezing cold. I go to the kitchen and start boiling milk, and hot water.

I'm no doctor, but I know it's fucking stupid for a man to go into freezing weather in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt.

_I'll give him five minutes, before his medical brain kicks in, _I reason. _Then I'll throw some clothes on, and go after him. _

More than anything, he needs his space. I can feel it in every pore.

I dig into my dresser for some spare flannel underwear. I put it on, then leave the extra set on the bed for Reid. The warmth curls into my skin.

I turn the heat up several degrees, then sit down on the sofa to wait.

_Five minutes, Reid. _I promise. _Then I'm dragging you back in here, whether you like it or not._


	8. Runaway

Runaway

_I can't stop._

His hands congeal on my shoulders, and I lean against his cheek, trying to breathe slowly and evenly. It works for about a minute, but then the terror grabs hold. I push him away, cold, controlled.

"I can't stay here, Luke." I manage. Like an alien watching from afar, I clutch at his shoulders, trying to be reassuring. "I have to leave."

I step back, leave him watching me. The stare burns into my back.

I fumble into his bedroom, put on the clothes I just removed an hour ago. They are soiled, I feel the germs leaking into my skin.

"Reid," I hear behind me.

I ignore him. Sweat stings on my skin, as the panic pulses in my lungs.

I am out of the apartment like a shot.

I run down the stairs, into the cool, crisp air.

It's fucking freezing.

At first the snow is soothing, powdered sugar bathing my body. Then the snow lands on my arms, soaks through, icy pinpricks.

I step on the icy pathway, and immediately stumble.

I get back up, and rub my arms more ferociously.

Some part of my brain realizes I am standing outside in freezing weather in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt, bare foot. Exposed to the elements.

I put one foot in one of the other, finally reaching the snow bundled in front of the complex.

_I have to go home. _I think. _Have to get out of here._

But the air is too tight, and my breath is too wet for reason.

I stand, staring out into the distance, watching the snow gently drift onto the ground.

The memories are psychic punches to my stomach.

_Ten years old, thrilled beyond measure at the reopening of my favorite library. Bound outside to tell him. He's drunk and stoned, and stares at me, impassive, for a long moment._

_The response, cold and flat: Fuck you._

_Throwing me to the wolves on my first competitive chess match, pressing the knight into my palm until it burned._

_He never touched me, but words wound, just as much._

_The years passed, getting repeated mixed messages from a drunken fool. I love you, go away. You're gonna make us rich, now get out of my sight, you miserable piece of shit._

_He found me touching myself as a teenager, grabbed the magazine and threw it out the window. "None of my kin is gonna be a fag." he growled._

I shut my eyes, trying to shut out the interminable images. They are a brutal parade on my brain; I thought I'd buried them, far beyond any human's reach.

I curl my hands around my waist, shivering in the night air.

I feel him, watching me.

It's so cold.

I finally assent, and turn my head to find him.

I reach my hands out, silently. I can't speak. I can't believe I told him all that disgusting shit about my past. I don't share my past with anyone. It's irrelevant to the present. Letting him see those fucked up parts of me - no. It's totally at odds with my confident image. But instead of rejecting me, he's standing in the snow, watching me shake.

"All I am is a doctor," I mumble, not realizing I've spoken out loud. "It's all that matters."

"You don't believe that," he answers somberly. "You wouldn't have come to check on me, if all you were is a doctor. You're also human, Reid Oliver. You believe you can just shut out your emotions, bury them deep down. Because they're a sign of weakness. But they're not, Reid. All that shit your uncle put in your head - "

"He was right," I interrupt.

"NO! He was wrong. He was wrong to force you into those chess matches, and wrong to berate you constantly. Reid, he's gone. He can't hurt you again, unless you let him. But, Reid -" he steps closer, he grabs my freezing palm with his hand - "I'm here." he's pleading now. I hear the crack in his voice. "I'm here, and I want to build a life with you. Together, we can work on all that crap he did to you."

I stare at him for several seconds, shivering. A million words course through my mind.

"Shut up." I say finally.

His mouth opens, and I see him about to speak.

I put two fingers on his lips, and caress them gently.

"Seriously, shut up. I don't want to do this. I don't want to reveal anymore of my secret pain. I just want to go back inside, and fuck your brains out. And afterward, I wanna cradle you in my arms, and tell you amazing you are. How much I love you for listening to me spill my guts, like some emotional sap. That'll be the last sentiment you get from me for awhile. How does that sound?"

He pushes my fingers aside with his tongue.

"Sounds good, Reid." he says huskily.

I let him walk him back inside, which is a good decision, because my feet are growing numb.

I pull the door closed, and tug on his hand before he moves further inside.

"Luke?" I say softly.

He turns to look back at me, and his face is almost too careful. I have no idea how he feels about my little diatribe.

"Yeah?"

A shiver wracks my body, and I state the obvious.

"I'm freezing," I whisper.

"We're almost there." he replies.

"What I said earlier," I begin. "About dispensing with sentiment - I didn't mean it. It's just - it's too much. I can't -" I fumble to a halt, and glare at the carpet.

"You don't have to do anything, change anything about yourself." he stresses. His hands have enclosed my waist, and before I know it, he's hugging me, loosely.

My own hands fall onto his back, and hold there, tightly. All of these revelations have exhausted me, and I just latch onto him for dear life. Ordinarily, I would call it a disgusting display of sentiment, but I don't have it in me anymore to fight how I feel.

His loose hold is causing goosebumps on my skin.

"Tighter," I mumble. "I'm cold." My hands coast up his back, and pull tight against his shoulders.

He obliges, and begins to rub my naked back repeatedly, warm, smooth strokes, to restore the circulation.

"I love you," I whisper, soft enough that only he can hear me. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

"I know," he says, his voice a tender shard. "I love you too."

We stand in the hallway, clinging to each other, comfortable, yearning, everlasting.

Despite everything, I know that I'll be fine.

Because I have Luke.


End file.
